


Brother's Blues

by AvaCelt



Series: Midnight Piper [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wu Fan and Lu Han have been friends since the Stone Age, so they do what's necessary according to the bro code and make sure their boyfriends are besties too. But the killer still stalks their lovely little home, so now it's up to them to protect their beloveds from harm's way while the stakes are increased. Cue a bunch of new additions to their scary little lives, and suddenly there's more danger now than there ever was before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother's Blues

The smell of something bitter rouses Lu Han from his sleep at around half past eleven. He squints in the low light, most of the sunshine obscured by the heavy curtains which are parted only half an inch on both sides. Lu Han can feel the the tell-tale signs of a hangover begin to creep behind his eyes. He squeezes them shut for just a few more minutes of rest, but as soon as he does, the acrid stench seems to heighten in retaliation. One minute, two go by, and Lu Han comes to the conclusion that coffee, albeit a waker-upper for most of the city, is still his greatest enemy, next to any and all who wished to fight him for Yixing’s love.

That same Yixing chuckles from a few feet away, and Lu Han cracks his crusty eyelids open to see his boyfriend, clad in boxers and holding a cup of straight black, reading something on his iPAD.

“It’s one of those no-sugar needed roasts,” Yixing teases, invitingly sipping the liquid Lu Han can only ascertain as putrid. “Would you like some?” He asks, fluttering his eyelashes when he looks up at Lu Han’s dazed, yet narrowed, brown orbs.

“No.”

It comes out cracked and harsh, and Lu Han can taste the disgusting smell of alcohol fueled morning breath at the back of his throat. His lips are parched, and yes, a glass of something fresh, something cold and ultimately exquisite in properties, like an aspirin, would be lovely right now, but not coffee. Never coffee.

Lu Han hates coffee.

Of course, only those who work with Lu Han on a daily basis know about his firm no-coffee rule. Others, usually clients and shareholders who attend meetings, assume the young man guzzles the same foul-smelling liquid they do, and offer him cups that he takes gratefully each time.

Only to slyly hand them to Wu Fan or Zi Tao, who willingly chug down the atrociously expensive drinks.

Lu Han doesn’t blame anyone for his preference (Zi Tao says it’s a condition, but Jong Dae assures him that his neighborhood in Brooklyn only drank oolong tea because that was cheaper than any of the coffee the grocery marts sold). It’s just that he never grew up with heavy coffee drinkers. Despite being third generation Chinese in Sweden, Lu Han was raised every way but. He spent his school years attending high-end grammar schools and secondary institutions, while summers dictated that his mother and father drag him back to Beijing, where he was forced to fluently converse in Pekingese and partake in traditional tea ceremonies. The first twenty years of his life, he would be lucky if he received one week off to enjoy a beach or a bar, but most of the time, it was spent running the family’s industry, having survived multiple regimes and countless wars.

According to them, Lu Han wasn’t the best at anything, unfortunately, so the mantle of the conglomerate went to his younger brother, while his younger sisters took over the smaller, yet equally efficient companies nestled within the conglomerate’s capitalistic embrace. He was, as his father routinely enunciated, useless and a bit weak in the head. His mother was far more attentive to his sisters and his baby brother, so not a breath of support parted her lips. His siblings turned the other cheek as they often did when they remembered that the dumber he became, the more wealth their names ended up carrying.

It was, all in all, a rather normal family, considering his father was a billionaire but still mildly faithful to his mother and their six children (Lu Han being the unfortunate eldest). Their way of life was rooted in their traditions of competition, of excellence, of complete and total domination. Lu Han didn’t happen to be competitive and never really dominant, unless bedroom shenanigans counted. Coupled with the fact that he was gay and didn’t really have that much of a future in business, medicine, or anything that could potentially make millions, it wasn’t long before the threat of exile loomed over his head.

Halfway through twenty, and struggling to commit the periodic table to memory for a weak shot at a chemical engineering degree, Lu Han has a heart attack. Yixing laughed at him the evening he told him his heart stopped in the middle of memorizing everything there was to know about Rubidium. Of course, Lu Han had laughed it off with him, but it had happened. The ghost who had been following him since birth had told him so and then disappeared for good.

Lu Had had, had a heart attack and woke up six hours later, only to realize he’d woken up from the dead. He could still feel the ghost’s cold touch on his arm. Of course his parents didn’t believe him, and of course his brother gave him a look veiled with utter disgust, but Lu Han  _had_  died, and he  _had_ returned to life. He didn’t understand how a family so rooted in centuries old rituals could look at him as if he were insane when he spoke of things so commonly acknowledged in their ceremonies.

The following morning, Lu Han packed two suitcases and a duffel bag, and said goodbye to their mansion near the water in Ostermalm. He walked to the nearest bank and checked to see that his card was denied (Lu Han recalled it hadn’t even been ten minutes since he’d prompted the family to disown him), so he trashed it right there. He used whatever was left in his pocket to trek up north into the farmlands where some of the fields belonged to Swedes who lived outside of the country. He found a job tending animals and took to drinking copious amounts of alcohol, which never seemed to deteriorate his liver the way he thought it would. He met Wu Fan in one of the pubs, and when he learned that he was a temporary worker and was earning pocket money so he wouldn’t have to work when classes resumed, Lu Han decided he’d found his true calling.

Wu Fan had damaged eardrums and a taste for uniformity, while Lu Han drank alcohol and tea like they were the only suitable nutrition available for him. Lu Han could recall things in perfect detail from ten years ago, whereas if Wu Fan ever broke from his autopilot, he’d find himself in front of a bus station and crying to his mother on the phone. Lu Han was a nutjob, according his family, and Wu Fan needed quiet or else he’d supersede whatever level of nutjob Lu Han happened to be on. They’d shook hands, hugged, cried drunkenly on each others shoulders, and decided they were life partners in the platonic sense.

Lu Han followed Wu Fan in the way the ghost had followed him for twenty years. Except, Wu Fan wanted him next to him, whereas Lu Han had, on many occasions, begged the ghost the leave. It didn’t until the day Lu Han died, and it had dissipated when he’d woken up. Lu Han told Wu Fan about the entity, and he had laughed as well, but not condescendingly. He’d just laughed and said that there had been worse things.

Lu Han believed him.

“You’re thinking again,” Yixing grumbles. His iPAD and coffee are on the dresser, and he’s crawled up the bed to face Lu Han. He can feel one of Yixing’s hands palm his member through the fabric of the blanket.

Scratch that- Lu Han  _still_  believes him. He’d enrolled back into school and earned a degree in management, and now he runs the firm as an equal partner. There had been worse things, like the disgust his father had for him, and the disappointment his mother graced him with, and even the greed that driveled from the very auras of his siblings as they watched him walk up the street and away from his former home, once and for all.

Lu Han hasn’t been back to China in eight years, but soon, he would have to meet Yixing’s family if he wanted the opportunity to put a ring on his finger. But that’s in Changsha, away from Beijing, away from the people Lu Han never wants to see again.

“Are you thinking of me?” He asks, licking a stripe of saliva up his collarbone. Lu Han nods faintly, because he’s awake, and he’s thinking about depressing shit he should have left behind years ago. These days, and for the rest of his life, all that’s supposed to matter is Yixing, Wu Fan, the firm, and his wonderful host of friends- the family he’s built for himself after having lost his heartbeat for six hours.

“I love you,” Lu Han concludes out loud, and Yixing’s teasing grin is replaced with one of solemnity and understanding.

“And here I was, thinking we’d have dirty sex for a few hours before joining the others for lunch,” he drawls, “but no, you had to get romantic, and now we have to have romantic sex,” he huffs. But there’s a smile again, and this one brings out his dimple, and he’s glowing the way Lu Han knows he does because he’s beautiful.

“I love you,” Lu Han says, and lets a shaky hand drift down Yixing’s cheek before stopping at his lips.

“I love you too,” he hears Yixing breathe, but by that time, Lu Han has him flipped on his back, with hands roaming the contours of his body.

He pushes in earnestly, and every scar that’s ever been inflicted on his soul retires into its compartment in his brain, not to be heard from so as long as Lu Han has love in his life. Yixing’s nails drag themselves down his back as he quivers in his arms. Lu Han quickens his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating throughout the bedroom. One of Lu Han’s hands pumps the latter’s erection while the other grips the back of Yixing’s right knee. His teeth drag on flushed skin, nipping buds of flesh while his breath hitches and drops of sweat sting his eyes. Before long, he captures wet lips and groans.

Yixing bites his lip when he comes, and Lu Han lets the blood settle in his mouth as he finishes inside him with slow, final thrusts. Once he pulls out, he collapses on the latter’s chest and sucks on his torn lip as their breathing evens out. Minutes later, Lu Han finds himself drifting off to sleep while Yixing cards his fingers through his sticky, brown bangs.

“Were you thinking about them?” Yixing asks softly.

“No,” Lu Han lies. “I was thinking about Fannie’s wedding and how I’m gonna manage that with our wedding.”

“You wanna marry me?” Yixing chuckles.

“Yeah,” he answers, because it’s one of the few truths he cherishes in his life. “I wanna marry you, adopt three kids, and hopefully marry them off to Fannie’s kids, Then we can all be one big happy family.”

“Maybe they don’t fall in love with Wu Fan’s kids,” Yixing says seriously.

“Then I’ll hatch a plan to make them fall in love,” Lu Han gripes. Yixing laughs and lightly smacks Lu Han’s shoulder.

“Or they can marry whomever they want,” Yixing corrects.

“Or that,” Lu Han smiles.

“I love you,” Yixing affirms. “So you can stop dwelling on the past.”

“I wasn’t dwelling,” he lies again, nuzzling his cheek against Yixing’s chest.

“You sound like a monkey when you lie.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine!” Lu Han fake-sobs into his chest until he feels hands smoothing his back.

“I still love you,” Yixing whispers softly, and it’s a promise.

“And I still wanna marry you,” Lu Han thinks out loud.

“Then let’s.”

Lu Han doesn’t need to look up to see his face to know he’s telling the truth. He nods. “I’ll have Martina pick a summer date and a venue by the water.”

“I don’t like diamonds,” Yixing sniffs haughtily.

“I’ll bring you gold,” Lu Han promises.

And that’s the end of that. Lu Han stares at the wall while Yixing’s heart beats underneath his ear. The latter drifts off, and by all intents and purposes, Lu Han should be too, but he’s not. He’s staring at the wall and he’s seeing things. Maybe not things, but something.

There’s a telltale outline of a figure with long hair and a thin body. The hands have curved finger nails, albeit blunt, and one hand never stops shaking.

The curtains are drawn. They’re only parted half an inch on each side. There are only two slits of light, and they’re both reflected on the wall with no obstructions.

And yet there’s a shadow Lu Han hasn’t seen in eight years.

 

*******

Sehun tends to the kitchen, slowly stirring the pot as Suho tentatively sprinkles green leaves and other shrubberies the Kim brothers have stowed away in their pantries. The mint that Wu Fan faintly smells in one of the soups is from there garden’s output, which is now dead and covered with tarp until they can begin to plant again without having to worry about the frost. From the corner of his eye, he spies Lu Han conversing with Minseok as they watch television, a bowl of cherries and a bottle of white wine between them.

Yixing is huddled with him under the awning overlooking the vast expanse of earth, which happens to be part of the property Minseok had purchased nine years earlier. The patio reaches seven or eight feet outwards until it hits a two and a half feet wide cement pathway that leads from one end of the Kim property to the next. The walkway is a border, because beyond it is hard soil and fresh snow. In the spring and summer, there would be grass and a few yards away there would be a flower garden on one end and a vegetable garden on the other. On the outskirts of the plot, there would be vines and shrubberies with fresh berries and other herbs Minseok would wrestle Sehun into preserving in their pantry once they received the full yield.

Once, Lu Han and he had walked the entire perimeter of the plot, from the front of the stoned pathway of Minseok’s garage, to the gardens out back. It had taken a good fifteen minutes for both men, at the height of their physical prowess, to return to where they had begun. Along the way, they’d found the wired fence that separated Minseok’s land from the province’s forestry. At the very back of the claim, the two men had spied two large trees, unlike the thin ones that littered the forest and the surrounding area.

The house and its works were on top of raised land, and from the side of the backyard, Wu Fan and the others had spied the lake that was a minute’s walk away. Cars had sped through the clear roads that particular evening, and they’d spied visiting families taking pictures by its glistening waters. Once, he chaperoned Sehun and his friends while they swam and Minseok grilled burgers back on the hill.

It would be a sight now, he knows. It’s been two weeks since Christmas, and the waters have frozen. In some parts, people are ice skating while others are ice fishing. In other parts, the ice is being cracked open to allow body parts to float.

It’s been six days since they found the head sticking out of the ice. The four month grace period has lifted, and Wu Fan and Lu Han are back to leaving their offices devoid of human beings by 8:45, so that their consciences are clear.

Wu Fan shudders again at what he’d seen on the news the week prior. He’d lost his appetite and dumped the chicken soup in the breakroom sink, and didn’t have the heart to tell Minseok when he trekked to his house in the evening. But something in Minseok’s sad eyes told Wu Fan that he knew.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” Yixing announces, pulling Wu Fan’s attention away from the details of that depressing day.

“It’s too cold,” he admonishes. He rubs his hands together, attempting to create friction.

Yixing blows a tuft of hair from his eyes, frost glazing over his lips. “I know, but I need to get rid of this energy.” He stands to knock on the inner glass door to the back entrance of the house. Suho’s eyes meet Wu Fan’s, even though Yixing is doing the tapping. There’s a slight nod on Suho’s part, and he returns to scolding Sehun, whose friend Jongin is silently sipping something from a cup while sitting on the floor and watching the fiasco go down.

Wu Fan didn’t see the young man come in, but then again, he also almost didn’t notice Lu Han’s hand on a bottle of red wine.

“OK,” he mutters, rising to join the oddly active accountant. He makes a mental note to switch Lu Han’s glass of port with cranberry juice when they’re at the dinner table.

The blustery wind slams against them as they walk between the house and the wired fence, before exiting out the driveway where Minseok’s black Jeep and Sehun’s stationwagon are situated. Wu Fan and Yixing’s cars are a few feet farther on the highland, in front of a manse. They take peeks at their vehicles before turning around to trek down the steep hill.

The wind only gets worse, howling and whining as they huddle closer together. Once they hit flat cement and come eye level with the lake, Wu Fan takes one look up to the tiny house that sits guard on top while Yixing begins to laugh and make comments about the grey skies.

In that house, there’s his future husband, his best friend, and others he will eventually come to call family. Next to him is his best friend’s fiance, and one of his most trusted partners, yet the only thing that continues to nibble at his brain is the fact that the lake is right  _there_.

Wu Fan turns back to Yixing and realizes that the Malaren now incites fear in his heart.

“-I want to ask Lu Han to move in with me,” he hears Yixing proclaim excitedly while the wind tears at his red scarf. “I know he loves his flat, but I have the house, the pool, and the privileges of living in a gated community. I know he’s a freak for tall buildings, so I was thinking of moving us onto the third floor of the house and turning the second’s bedrooms into nurseries, so at least he has a view in the morning.” The mirth in his words don’t faze Wu Fan. In fact, he’s happy for them. “When will you be moving in with Minseok?”

Wu Fan doesn’t expect the question, nor does he expect his legs to start moving in accordance to Yixing’s step. They cross the street towards the iron fence separating the bank of the lake and sidewalk next to the road. Wu Fan can detect small figures twirling on the ice, and people snapping pictures. The skaters are out, and if it had been a slightly calmer day, he would have joined them.

“I don’t think I will,” he answers truthfully, catching Yixing raise an eyebrow.

“Your flat is too small,” the latter begins. “If it were only you and Minseok, then it would have been fine, but Sehun isn’t going anywhere, and it won’t be long before you file the adoption papers. You can’t fit a family of six into three bedrooms.”

Wu Fan doesn’t know why Yixing thinks he’s going to have three children. He was counting on one, maybe two, and only if _Minseok_ wanted two. Three never crossed his mind, and one only on days he really digs into the family magazines he has in the lobbies for the clients.

“We’ll get a bigger house,” he manages to huff, his teeth chattering as the skies get darker. They/re well away from Minseok’s house now, and nearing a curve branch of the road that leads towards the bus station to Vallingby and the likes.

“What’s wrong with Minseok’s?” He asks seriously.

“Too cold,” he mutters gruffly.

“You like cold,” comes the deadpan.

And there really isn’t much Wu Fan can say to refute that, except maybe the truth. “I don’t want us to be by the-” He motions his head towards the lake instead of saying it.

Yixing takes a deep breath. “You can’t escape the lake.” His voice is firm, the mirth gone and replaced with the tone he uses with wayward interns. “We happen to live in a country that’s settled and surrounded by water. Lots of water. People have lived and thrived here for longer than we know, and there have been monsters here in the past, stronger than the ones we know today.”

Wu Fan doesn’t know what those monsters are, but he’s going to do some research tonight, after Minseok’s snoring underneath his quilt.

The man’s professionalism doesn’t disperse. “If you’re thinking of escaping from the reality we have to live in, then you’re better off going back to Vancouver. There’s no way you can escape the truth that happens to hover over everyone here. They may not talk a whole lot about it on the news, but it’s still the truth, isn’t it? There’s a monster here, and we have to live with it every day and hopefully not get caught in its web. You can ask Minseok to get a new house, and you can move inland, or up north, but one way or another, the killings are going to continue until someone catches the bastard. And they’re all gonna turn up in the lake, if it’s still the appropriate lake. Maybe it’ll move on to another one. Lord knows how many lakes we have here. Maybe one will show up in the Vanern, or the Roxen, or in the Siljan, because I know you love vacationing there in the summer after you come back from your mother’s. Point is, it can’t be helped. We have to live with it.”

“My family will be in danger,” Wu Fan challenges.

“Haven’t they always been in danger?” Yixing questions. “I mean, look at where they live. The hill has five plots. There’s Minseok’s house, a manse, and three mansions. All of the other buildings are farther down the hill, away from the lake, but Minseok’s is right on the cusp. You can walk outside and look out, and there’s the water, frozen and dark and dangerous like everything else in the world. If the killer ever needed a weekend lodge, all he’d have to do is find a way to hurt Sehun and have Minseok come at him in rage. Two bullets, and case closed. The minister wouldn’t even know there were deaths unless he actually knocked on the door to see where the two brothers were.”

Wu Fan doesn’t know what to say. They’ve turned around and are headed towards the house again. The skaters continue to whistle and howl, but the wind is louder, more ferocious.

“But that’s not gonna happen because Minseok isn’t stupid and neither is Sehun. They’ve been living there longer than that thing’s been killing. The people here have been surviving longer than that thing. For you to think they wouldn’t be able to take care of themselves is beyond me. I thought you were the smart one.”

“I’m not,” Wu Fan snaps back.

“I can see that,” Yixing hums. They’re at the foot of the hill again. It’s going to take all their strength to walk against gravity and get to the front steps of the house. “I would like to race you, but my face is frozen, and my legs don’t want to work,” he points.

“My snot is frozen,” Wu Fan blinks.

They manage to drag themselves, arm-in-arm, up the highland and finally to the entrance where Sehun tuts at them, before handing them both hot beverages. He and Jongin are wrapped in their winter gear, the latter shyly bowing to Wu Fan and Yixing before slinking behind Sehun.

They gather into the house once a gust of wind almost knocks Sehun off his feet. Suho, Lu Han, and Minseok are in the middle of a card game, and Wu Fan can’t help but wrap his long arms around the shorter man he’d promised to marry. He smells like pine nuts and mint, like the foods that are most likely still cooking in the kitchen.

“You’re cold as bone,” Minseok chastises, yelping when Wu Fan places a cold cheek against his warm one.

“Then make me warm,” he teases. Sehun makes a gagging noise and Lu Han snorts.

“I’m hungry,” Yixing whines.

“Were you lecturing Fannie?” Lu Han drawls.

“Yes,” Wu Fan deadpans, and Yixing sends him a nasty glare.

“Do I wanna know?” Minseok mock-sighs.

“You don’t,” Yixing assures.

“And food sounds like a great idea,” Suho interrupts.

It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon, and lunch is big and hearty, but already the snow is beginning to descend from the greyish white sky above. The house seems to shake with the wind, but Wu Fan knows it’s only his imagination. After they’ve finished their meal, Minseok excuses himself to go down to the coffee shop to quickly grab a few supplies for their evening coffee before dinner, and while Wu Fan offers to join him, he’s told to entertain the guests because Sehun would burn the house down if he tried on his own.

Wu Fan waves goodbye, standing on the front steps until Minseok is down the hill and out of sight. He’d implored him to take the car, but he insisted on taking the bus, so Wu Fan stood until Minseok’s brown hat had disappeared and then Yixing had pulled him in.

He takes one look at the frozen lake and then shuts the door.

 

*******

“That’s not the shop,” it hisses, attempting to draw back the charging man.

“Didn’t I already give you instructions?” He retorts, smirking at the former’s disbelief.

“Come home,” it pleads, pulling at the man’s sleeves. “Please.”

The man regrets many things in his life, but this more than anything else. He thinks back to the evening he’d stumbled upon the thing. He could have walked away and jumped off the bluff like he’d originally planned. The end would have been quiet and without hassle, and he would have ended up just where he wanted to be- at the bottom of the lake.

But then again, he would have probably floated to the top, but he never got the chance.  _It_  had managed to ruin everything.

“I don’t want to repeat myself,” he sighs, and the thing flinches, as if burned. He musters whatever warmth is left in him, and smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in no time.”

That seems to placate the thing, but there’s still a frown etched on its features. Tears glisten in its murky black eyes and the man has the urge to vomit. “Why don’t you make love to me?” It asks weakly.

He wants to remind the thing that they’d never made love, never would make love, and that love, in itself, simply never existed in their case. But the thing was as daft as the rest of humanity, and after a while, he managed to come up with a response that seemed to keep the thing’s mouth shut for an ample amount of time.

“Soon,” he intones. “When you take me with you.”

The frown slowly turns upside down, like it always does. “Promise?”

Minseok’s toes are crossed. “Promise.”

 

*******

Whining floats to Wu Fan’s sensitive ears, jerking him awake from his nap. He notices he’s the only one on the couch, while Lu Han lolls on a loveseat with the remote, a bottle of beer, and the channel turned to a football game. He could have sworn he asked Sehun earlier to lock up the liquor cabinet until after dinner.

Said Sehun is still whining. Wu Fan rubs the sleep out of his eyes and rises far enough to see Suho rapidly speaking in Korean while the boy moans and gripes in Swedish. Yixing stands a few feet away, biting his nails.

“The news scared the shit out of Suho,” Lu Han sighs before taking another sip of his drink. Wu Fan turns to his best friend slouching on his individual seater “Yixing changed the channel to football. I heard the screaming from the bathroom, so I came out to watch. They’ve been telling the kid for the last ten minutes to go up to his room, but he won’t. And this game sucks.” Another blink, another sip.

Wu Fan wonders why the kid just can’t go upstairs and read the stuff on his phone or laptop. It’s not like there’s any shortage of wifi.

The whines get louder and Wu Fan notices Jongin’s not in the room. “Where’s the other kid?” He thinks out loud.

To his surprise, Sehun whips his head towards him. “He took over my bed, so I have no place to go CAN’T I JUST WATCH THE NEWS!?”

Wu Fan massages his temple. Jong Dae’s not even here yet, and already the beginnings of a migraine are creeping behind his eyes.

“Read it on your PC,” he replies.

“Minseok changed the wifi password and he has no data on his phone,” Suho reveals. “Baby Kim here is being punished.”

Wu Fan doesn’t even begin to want to know why. “Then go sleep on Minseok’s bed,” he grunts, rubbing his forehead.

Before Sehun can get another word out, Jongin lightly meanders down the stairs and ends up next to Suho. Yixing breathes gratefully when he sees that the boy had woken up, and vigorously begins pushing them upstairs.

“That kid is his best friend. How is this punishment?” Lu Han drones, opening up a lager this time.

“You planning on stopping any time soon?” Wu Fan snipes.

“Nope,” he replies, taking a swig. He blinks and then cocks his head to the side. “But now I wanna see the news.” He flips the channel to one of the Stockholm-exclusive stations where the anchor is a middle-aged Caucasian woman vigorously intoning things about the recent murder.

Of course it was the murder. How could it possibly have been anything else?

Yet what grabs Wu Fan’s attention is the man sitting next to the anchor on the television screen. Yixing and Suho take spots next to him, their eyes glued to the screen.

“-here we have Inspectors Park and Yagami, along with Detective Burrows, from Interpol. For the first time in six years, the public will now learn of the plans the international police organization has in store for the Midnight Piper prowling the streets of Stockholm.”

The anchor turns the gears over to the man called Burrows first. He’s an American, probably from the mid-west, judging from his accent. According to him, Interpol had inserted themselves into the investigation after the second year of murders, with not a single credible suspect in the books.

“The morons are listening from the top of the stairs,” Lu Han drawls.

“Let them,” Wu Fan snaps. The information right now is tame, but once it gets detailed, he’ll personally usher them back to their rooms.

The Japanese man looks to be in his late twenties like Wu Fan. His light brown hair is dyed and fashioned in the latest style popular in the country, and his suit is pressed firmly against the contours of his lithe and toned body. He remembers seeing this man on the news before, in regards to a case that forced the hands of the Germans and the Japanese in a series of human trafficking allegations.

Apparently, he’s been called in to handle this because about forty of the bodies that were recovered happened to be of international traffickers that had hid away in Sweden before continuing on to Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. Twelve of them were personally involved in the German-Japanese trafficking case years before. Blah blah blah, they’d found something they could now build on, and yes, the public was welcome to help, so call this hotline and press that number and whatnot.

Wu Fan doesn’t understand how forty out of almost two hundred can be this important. As far as he knows, the seediest of persons in the city lazed around in the smoky clubs that didn’t have proper licenses and offered underage prostitutes. Of course, since the Piper hunted mostly in the dank areas between clubs and the mini marts, churches, and empty lots, it should have come to no one’s surprise that the victims were human traffickers and other dubious persons.

Sometimes, Wu Fan couldn’t fathom the daftness that permeated this world.

But finally, the spotlight turned to the Korean man at the end, no doubt the youngest of the group. He introduced himself as Chanyeol Park, and he was from the homicide division in Daegu. His position was simple- some of the murders committed involved important South Korean officials, and since then, their division of Interpol was called in to assist.

The twist came in the revelation of the South Korean murders. Apparently, they took place in well-to-do parts of Ostermalm, the wealthiest bit of Sweden, uncanny for a killer whose primary hunting ground was the illegal red light district.

Park Chanyeol is just about to start describing the recently approved measures to be taken against the Piper when the doorbell rings. Wu Fan tunes out the television and opens the door, thinking it will be Minseok. Instead, it’s Jong Dae holding a bottle of rum.

“More liver disease,” he says.

“Only the best,” Jong Dae assures solemnly.

At that moment, Yixing takes the remote from Lu Han and turns off the television. He snipes for the boys to skidaddle, and the sounds of thumping feet reverberate above their heads as they head to the dining room for an early start on the rum Jong Dae had procured.

“Are they babbling about the Piper again?” Jong Dae inquires, stuffing crackers into his mouth.

Yixing pours himself a long glass and takes a healthy gulp before answering. “Interpol is finally involved.”

“Definitely too ‘em long enough,” Lu Han mutters, reaching for the rum Yixing keeps pushing away from his reach.

Jong Dae shakes his head while he pours himself a cup. “They’ve probably been watching from the beginning, but not in front of the public. But now that the public knows, they can work more freely.”

“The lady said they’ve been watching for four years,” Suho reminds the others.

“Nah,” Jong Dae waves his hand. “People like them watch from the beginning. It’s what happened on the front lines when we needed answers. There’s always someone watching. If it gets bad enough, they’ll call in a favor. Hence, the Japanese. If it gets any worse, call in the cavalry, and wa la, you have a Nebraskan who caught the 21st century’s worst hitchhiking killer in the US, and an internationally acclaimed governmental bodyguard who made sure the prime minister came back in one piece from peace talks in Pyongyang.”

Everyone tends to forget Jong Dae was a soldier, even Wu Fan.

“What the hell can they even do?” Yixing grumbles. “Bodies keep washing up, and all of central’s police are sequestered god knows where.”

“They’re definitely not at the clubs,” Jong Dae smirks.

“Maybe they’re plain-clothes,” Lu Han offers.

Jong Dae snorts. “Not even those.”

The door creeks open, and Minseok ambles in, placing the bags on the welcome mat before brushing the snow off his shoulders.

“Hey, you,” Wu Fan calls. “Took you long enough.”

Minseok looks tiny and adorable in his brown hat and overtly puffy yellow jacket. Wu Fan was told it was a present from Sehun, and he believed it. The boy had once dyed his hair bubblegum pink, so nothing remotely odd came as a surprise. Yet, the coat, the hat, the orange scarf and leather gloves bring out a mirthful shimmer in his eyes, like his trip to the coffee shop in the swirling mess of snow only heightened his energy. Wu Fan wants to hug him.

“Hyung, can we watch the news!”

The cry comes from a wide-eyed Sehun, a sheepishly smiling Jonging trailing behind him. Suho holds his head in his hands while Yixing throws them a glare.

“Sure.” Minseok’s grin reaches his eyes, and Wu Fan knows that once the boys are tucked into Sehun's room, he’s going to have Minseok all to himself.

The boys put on the television and catch the end of the newsfeed while Lu Han pours Minseok a glass of Jong Dae’s rum. Wu Fan’s already up and helping the shorter man put away the wet gear while Yixing brushes away the snow with the small mop hidden in the corner behind the shoe rack. In the midst of Wu Fan massaging Minseok’s cold fingers, one of his lover’s eyes twitches for the slightest of seconds.

Wu Fan turns his attention to the television where the boys are huddled in front of.

“-we know who you are,” Yagami repeats. “We know who you are and what kind of being your working with.”

The wording is ambiguous at best, but it seems to have piqued Minseok’s interest. Wu Fan lets his hands drift away and follows the man to the den instead.

“Don’t think you can fool us,” Park Chanyeol states. “You’re not working alone, and we already know that. We’ve found the ones that have been picking up after you, and yes, they’ve been talking. You know which ones we’re talking about.” Park Chanyeol pauses and lets a small grin etch across his lips. “And _what_  we’re talking about, so take this as your first and final warning. We know what you are, and now we’re coming for you. Lock your doors if you want, but even you can’t resist opening your doors for  _them_.”

It’s Jong Dae who bursts out laughing, Minseok following behind. Wu Fan and the rest stare blankly at the men who seem to have found jokes hidden in the policemens’ spiel. But even then, Wu Fan doesn’t understand who these dubious people are that they’re referring to. Of course to Jong Dae, anything and everything involving the law is hilarious. Minseok too is usually smiling, but why now, when the killer was finally being approached?

Wu Fan then recalls it’s been six years since the first kill, and only now have they begun threatening the killer. Of course it’s funny.

“Looks like the other two officers are in on Park’s threat,” Yixing notes. “The Japanese is grinning like crazy. Are we sure he’s not the one?”

The newsfeed ends and the boys finally turn off the set before retreating to Sehun’s room until dinner was served. Wu Fan watches while the smile still plays on Minseok’s lips. “What’s so funny?” He asks, wrapping his arms around his tiny stomach.

Minseok gives him a look graced with love. Wu Fan’s heart flutters. “Nothing,” he says airily. “Just… nothing.” Wu Fan decides that’s enough and gives him a long, wet kiss on the lips, to which Lu Han suggests there be more tongue, for family photo purposes.

An hour later, Suho begins to set out the plates with his usual blank face while Minseok puts away the last of the coffee that had been mixed with various liqueurs. Yixing assists in setting the chairs, while Lu Han lounges in the den, drink still at his lips, eyes staring into nothingness. Once Sehun’s cry for food echoes throughout the house, even the dazed manager comes out of his reverie and joins his friends at the table.

Wu Fan is beside Minseok, again massaging his callous fingers while Suho ladles the soup into their bowls. Wu Fan sighs in content until he feels something lodge itself between his nail and fingertip. Minseok doesn’t notice and continues to laugh out loud at Yixing’s comment on the new watch he bought himself.

Wu Fan lifts the hand and brings the offending digit closer to his eyes. Something crusty is itching in the crevice. He flicks it harshly, and feels a sliver of red end up on his white sweater. He picks it up with the pad of his index finger and stares.

It’s dried blood.

*******


End file.
